And The Words Won't Come Out Right
by Eirtae Rebekah
Summary: Set in the First Class movie-verse. Charles has something to say, but he can't seem to find the right words.


"It's fascinating, isn't?"

The window that Charles was staring out of was still speckled with rain from the storm that passed earlier that evening. He placed his hands on the worn windowsill and leaned against it, his breath slightly fogging the glass. If he pressed the side of his forehead to the pane, he could just barely make out in the distance the shape of the Kölner Dom, its two great spires rising up over the rooftops of the city and disappearing into the dark, foggy sky.

Their search for mutants had brought them here—a young man, rumored to have the ability to create what Erik and Charles had assumed must be some sort of plasma blast. Unfortunately, it seemed as though he must have some sort of telepathic abilities as well: Cerebro had easily pointed them towards the Westphalia region, but now that they were here, Charles could pick up no trace of him. It worried him to think that they may have spooked him somehow and that this mystery man was now shielding himself from the survey of Charles' telepathy. Regardless, it was clear that he did not want to be found and out of respect for that, the two agreed to give up and return to headquarters tomorrow.

The hotel that they had settled into for the night was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the city's Hauptbahnhof. Their double-bed room (Charles had a strange feeling that if he had not spoken up at the check-in desk, that Erik would've had them in a single-bed room, which made absolutely no sense) was long, but narrow. It was clean, but clearly old and in a state of slight disrepair. The furniture was mis-matched and the white paint (which had clearly been slapped on in several poor coats over the years) was peeling off the walls. On a small, rickety table against the wall sat a tray with the remains of the tea service they had enjoyed earlier that evening.

On the opposite side of the room, perched on one of the small hard beds, was Erik, freshly showered and in his dark bathrobe, calmly reading the local newspaper (Charles couldn't quite translate what the bold headline read.) The hotel had been decided on by Erik—a far more modern room had easily been within their means, but he had insisted on this place, saying he liked the "intimacy" of it. This particular turn of phrase had brought an undeniable sensation of heat to the back of Charles' neck. Erik was proving to be a very interesting travel companion.

"Have you never seen idiots shooting off fireworks in the street before, Charles?" came Erik's voice from behind his newspaper.

From the window, Charles could see the street a few stories below them slowly filling with groups of people, bundled against the cold. Many carried a load of fireworks under one arm and a bottle (Charles nervously assumed they must be alcohol) under the other. It was Silvester's, the New Year. Charles had made a faint suggestion of going out to celebrate, but Erik didn't seem particularly interested, preferring to "stay in." Charles had raised his eyebrow at this, but didn't protest. The rest of the city's celebrants had been staved off by the earlier rain, but now that it had passed they began to meander out into the streets, setting up their small firework displays. Admittedly, this made Charles a bit nervous, as the narrow street was lined with relatively tall buildings and some of those firecrackers seemed to be aimed at his window…

"I wasn't talking about that," replied Charles, turning from the window to face his companion, still hidden by the newspaper. Erik made no move to answer further. He seemed to prefer spending the evenings in silence-he had on one occasion not so subtly referred to this time as "Quiet Time." And normally Charles would've easily obliged to this—he enjoyed the quiet company of a book just as much as the next man—but in the course of their traveling together, Charles felt himself more and more possessed by an overwhelming urge to just, well, _talk_ at his newfound companion.

Unfortunately, nothing eloquent ever seemed to escape his mouth. It was as if there was a buzzing, spinning jumble of words inside his chest and anytime he attempted to express some of this chaos (in the hopes of relieving the nervous energy that came with it), it came out as, for lack of a better phrase, word-vomit. This was made only more frustrating by his traveling companion's calm, taciturn way. Just yesterday they had stopped to eat at a busy street café and while Erik was the picture of serenity as he lightly perused the menu, Charles sat across from him, unable to decipher the foreign words in front of him while his body practically vibrated from the nervousness of the desire to express something (_something_, though he couldn't quite figure out what.)

And here he was once again, staring at his calm almost disinterested roommate, while his own chest felt like it was about to explode.

"I meant this," Charles attempted, making a vague, sweeping gesture. "What we're doing. Finding other mutants, uniting them, telling them they're not alone."

Erik flipped down the top of his newspaper, revealing his face to Charles. Charles uncomfortably noticed that his breath seemed to hitch slightly as he met with the calm but brilliant eyes of Erik. His features were difficult to read, but this felt like an invitation to continue. Emboldened by this, Charles stepped away from the window and—okay, perhaps he was feeling really bold—seated himself at the edge of Erik's bed. Normally he tried to keep a much safer distance from Erik since unnerving things seemed to happen when he was too close to him (like at this moment, he felt his palms start to sweat just a bit.)

Charles swore he thought he saw Erik's eyebrows raise—and was that a smile? Either way, Erik folded his newspaper and set it to the side. Charles didn't quite understand why this gesture made his heart start pounding, but he plowed on.

"I mean, we're on the brink of something remarkable," he began eagerly. "We're discovering a new species, things and people that we've never seen before. Things that we never dreamed of in our wildest imaginations to be true. It's sort of exciting, isn't it? To watch this new evolution unfold? Think of all the endless possibilities!" He paused, feeling uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had done that word-vomit thing again. Erik was staring at him—oh god, just how stupid did he look right now? But Erik was wearing that half-smile he was so fond of, and his eyes dropped down to the bed.

Charles followed his gaze and realized that in his fervent speaking, he had taken hold of Erik's hand.

It was like his hand had touched a hot stove—Charles jerked away, but noted the pit of disappointment that suddenly formed in his stomach as he did so.

"Sorry, I…" but he had nothing with which to complete the sentence. He could only focus on the heat that was slowly spreading across his cheeks and collecting at the back of his neck. He gave his collar a tug as he cleared his throat and tried again (which was difficult, now that Erik seemed openly amused.)

"I mean, ah, look at you. You have so much untapped potential inside of you, powers that the world has never seen the likes of, that we could benefit from. If there was a way for humanity to utilize those powers, but them into some sort of use…" He trailed off. It seemed that whatever smirk which had been hiding in the corner of Erik's mouth was now gone. The pit grew deeper.

"Please, don't talk like that, Charles."

"Like, like what?" It was hard not to stammer.

"Like I'm sort of tool or animal to be used for the 'betterment of mankind.'"

Oh god, what had he done? What had he said? The pit in Charles' stomach had grown so big, he felt like he might be swallowed by it. He practically jumped off the bed and retreated back to the window. He couldn't bear to sit so close to Erik, not when he had been so awfully insensitive and wholly insulted the man he was trying to… well…

What was he trying to do? Erik was a… colleague. Yes. A colleague. Someone he was working with. An equal, with a brilliant mind and an intelligence that was nearly unmatchable in caliber (and who spoke the most eloquent French.)

But there was an undeniable darkness there as well, a deep collection of pain that Charles found it impossible to turn a blind eye to. He had touched it that first night they met in the water—Charles was capable of sympathy, certainly, but this was different. He had felt overwhelmed with a desire to wipe away every bitter emotion that possessed Erik's heart and erase every wrenchingly painful memory. Somehow, he wanted to make Erik… happy.

But—_well done, Charles_—he had achieved quite the opposite, thanks to his blundering. His cheeks burned anew with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I'm sorry," was all he could offer. His voice came out weak and defeated, but (he hoped) sincere.

A heavy silence lingered between them, and Charles felt as though he might _actually_ vomit. But suddenly, Erik got up from the bed, crossing the small room in what seemed like a few short strides. He brought himself face to face with Charles and studied his face.

Growing up a telepath, Charles had always lived a life of hyper-awareness, catching small and seemingly insignificant details that those around him might miss. A tense atmosphere, a reluctant gesture, an exchanged look. At this moment in time, he found himself intently aware of three things. First, he became aware of just how tall Erik was in comparison to himself—it wasn't much, but at this short distance, he was forced to incline his head in order to look into Erik's face. Second, he was aware of the fact that Erik was wearing a bathrobe and most likely little else. And in that same vein, he was thirdly aware of just how many of articles of clothing _he_ was wearing in comparison.

It was hard to find a place to look at that moment. If Charles cast his eyes down, he found the triangular patch of smooth chest that was revealed by Erik's bathrobe. Keeping his eyes level, he was met with Erik's lips, a corner of which was ever so slightly tugged back into the beginning of a smile. And if he looked up, there were just his eyes, which at this moment seemed almost unnaturally bright. There was nowhere else for his eyes to go—Erik seemed to fill his whole frame of vision. Once again, Charles gave a tug at his ever-suffocating collar and settled on looking down and closing his eyes.

"You know Charles, it really isn't fair." Even with his eyes closed, the sound of Erik's voice was a reminder of just how close they were to one another. "You have the ability to go digging in here," Charles finally looked up to see Erik tapping his temple, "and know exactly what I'm thinking and feeling. And yet, you're allowed to keep everything a complete mystery to me. Quite the disadvantage, don't you think?"

And here they came again, all the words bubbling up inside of him in an incoherent, messy jumble. What he would give to just pluck one or two of them from the chaos whirling inside his chest and form a decent sentence to encapsulate and perfectly reveal all that he felt. But, he couldn't. Everything was such an awful mess inside of him and the pounding of his heart did nothing to quell the chaos.

_Forget it_, he thought suddenly. There was one, very clear and purposeful way to express himself that didn't require bumbling through more unproductive sentences.

He slipped his hand beneath the collar of Erik's bathrobe, finding the nape of his neck. His skin still had a touch of wetness from his shower. Charles took a short breath and, using his newfound grip as an anchor, pulled himself up to Erik's height and pressed his lips resolutely against his.

There was a single, awful moment as Charles felt no response from Erik. His heart seemed to stop its heavy pounding as fear took over him. He almost didn't care if his reaction was to push Charles away, he just needed a reaction. Anything. He realized that he needed to _know_.

And it was at that moment when Charles felt a strong hand at the small of his back, pulling him into the undeniable warmth of Erik's body and closing whatever distance had been left between them. He felt Erik's lips part slightly, inviting him to kiss deeper, harder, more passionately. With his heart resuming its double-time march inside his chest, Charles eagerly obeyed. His other hand now found Erik's neck as well and he used this grasp to pull himself as close as he could into Erik's embrace, as he allowed his tongue to rove over his lips. He felt Erik slowly grind his hips against Charles, revealing a firmness that Charles also possessed, but was being uncomfortably suppressed by the tightness of his trousers.

From over Erik's shoulder came a soft, tinkling sound. Breaking his kiss with Erik, Charles looked over to see what the cause of the sound was—his eyes fell on the leftovers of their evening tea service and saw one of the small, metal spoons vibrating against the teacup it had been left in. Charles met Erik's eyes, a small but smug grin forming on his face. "Don't really need telepathy for that, do I?" Charles laughed, but less for the humor of his statement and more to cover the breathlessness in his voice.

Erik said nothing, though his smile clearly indicated his amusement. He found Charles' lips again, however his hands slipped up to Charles' cardigan and began to tug it off. Charles assisted in the effort of pulling his arms free of the sweater, all the while mentally cursing his insistence at wearing so many damn clothes.


End file.
